


A Stitch In Time

by hollenius



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c., This House (play)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollenius/pseuds/hollenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter Harrison needs to make it to the division lobby before the vote. He also needs his suit coat back, which is currently being repaired by Opposition whip (and hereditary tailor) Jack Weatherill. Surely a sewing job is beyond the realm of party politics? If not, then what is?</p><p>(Based largely on the characterizations from James Graham's play 'This House', though slightly shippier than the already bromantic source material.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stitch In Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kainosite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kainosite/gifts).



> This is probably more of a This House fic than 'canon' RPF (paradoxical statement though that may be!) because I based the characterizations more on the play and used a slightly modified version of its timeline, but you are welcome to envision Jack Weatherill with as much or as little hair on his head as you see fit.

"Oi! Don't you shut that door on me!"

Various grunted obscenities echoed through the corridors of power as a beige blur came barreling into the member's lobby and on towards the chamber of the House of Commons. An idle _Times_ lobby correspondent lounging with a colleague near the entrance to the chamber was nearly struck by the speeding whip, who had passed so close by that the reporters' ties were sent wafting in the breeze.

Walter Harrison had arrived late to a division once before; he was not about to do so again.

The deputy whip reached the Ayes lobby just as the door was shutting. With a final surge of effort, he launched himself into the doorway, felt vaguely aware of some sort of resistance at his left shoulder, and crashed shoulder-first onto the floor, pulling his legs free of the door. He clambered into a sitting position, noting with glee that he had managed to clear the door entirely without getting stuck. He stood up, still catching his breath and only slightly sore, to look for the other Labour whips. He spotted them soon enough.

"Look, Michael," he wheezed as he approached the Chief Whip, "no 3/4 of a vote this time! I got my whole body in. And look at this!" He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "Ian Mikardo thinks he's got a group of abstainers on the upcoming incomes policy vote, but I've got the names of _every last one of them_ , right here, and there's still plenty of time left for persuasion."

Michael Cocks, in a state of anxiety even greater than usual, buried his face in his hands, remembering that it hadn't been that long since his deputy had arrived late enough for a vote to get wedged in the door of the lobby as it was being shut.

"Walter, this is just...too much! That is, look, you can't just do this! Regularly! The Tories will say that you, I mean, you can't, that isn't the..." He managed to collect his wits enough to finally stammer out an intelligible sentence. "...that should be the _normal_ thing to do, I mean. Having four limbs and a bloody torso through the door to vote with. Good that you got the names, I mean, that'll be our work cut out for tonight, but...just show up earlier next time, yeah?"

 

\---------------

Walter was so used to Michael's perpetual distress by this point that he bore all his agitated lectures with a sort of weariness bordering on boredom. A hung parliament was trying on even the most patient of men, and the Labour Whips' Office was not filled with particularly patient people at the present time. The current division had gone relatively well--a majority of _five_ \--but things weren't always so comfortable, and new trouble was always waiting around the corner.

In this case, trouble was literally around the corner, for just as Walter was about to turn onto the corridor towards the Whips' Office, he saw a man in an impeccably-tailored three-piece suit struggling to balance several notebooks and sheaves of documents as he strode up to greet him from the other direction.

"Jack." He nodded by way of greeting, and the other man returned the nod as he got a better grip on his papers.

"I would shake your hand if I wasn't carrying all this. Very important information, you know. I heard you made a rather gallant dive into the lobby today."

"Guilty as charged."

"It's strange," Jack continued, "you'd think such an acrobatic display might injure somebody at your age--"

"At _our_ age, more like--"

"True, true. Still, with the number of ailing MPs you already have, seems foolish to risk injuring yourself for a vote where you had such an enormous majority."

Walter suppressed a scoff. "Did you have any reason to come over to talk to me or did you just come to take the piss?"

"Oh, I had a reason. Take a look at the left sleeve of your jacket."

"What?"

"Your leap into the lobby was less graceful than you thought."

Walter turned his arm to the side and tilted his head. Not noticing anything at first, he took the coat off, and then saw that the whole sleeve was coming loose at the seam by the shoulder. "Shit," he muttered. Knowing Jack, he could tell exactly what was coming next.

"I was wondering if you would allow me to repair your jacket."

"Ohhh no. Before tonight's vote, you mean?" Jack nodded. "You really think I would walk right into a trap like that?"

"You're not going to walk into the House of Commons in a suit that's falling apart, if that's what you're intending."

"You're going to take that coat and hold it hostage, that's what you'll do, you and the Tory whips, to keep me too under-dressed to go into the house. Try and create some sort of fake scandal out of Labour members showing up in shirtsleeves, even though it's just for a vote."

"If you think I'm honestly going to hold some tattered jacket _hostage_ for political purposes, then here, take mine. We can trade them back afterwards."

At this, Jack carefully set his folders and papers in a little pile on the floor before dutifully removing his jacket and proffering it to his rival. Walter stared at his own torn coat for a few seconds before giving an exaggerated eye roll and offering it in exchange.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, but I'm trusting you to bring it back," said Walter as he watched Jack tuck his coat under his arm before retrieving his documents from the floor. "I'll be waiting in the Government Whips' Office once I've finished dealing with a couple of sodding waverers about this next bill..."

"I'll get it back to you within three hours."

"Just drop it off at the office. See you then."

 

\-------

Three hours came and went. On the one hand, Walter was surprised to find his jacket still hadn't been returned upon his arrival at the office...but on the other hand he wasn't surprised at all. _Fucking Tories_ , he thought. He stared at the pinstriped navy jacket hanging off the back of his chair. _Probably meant nothing to him to leave it here. He probably owns thirty of those suits, or he just hopped on over to the store with his name on it. Bastard_.

He shot a nervous glance at his watch. Fifty minutes until the vote was supposed to be called. He pulled a rolodex out of his desk drawer and made a few threatening phone calls, just to pass the time. Forty minutes. Thirty-five. Thirty. He lit a cigarette and began to pace. It didn't bother him any, the thought of striding into the Commons sans coat. They couldn't actually throw him out, could they? At least he had on a necktie. The aristo-twats probably still couldn't get over the fact that people didn't wear top hats to Parliament any more.

Twenty minutes. Fifteen. He perched on the corner of his desk, staring at a blank expanse of wall as he awaited the division bell. Finally, he heard the click of the doorknob turning.

"You're late. Give me my damn jacket back."

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Jack, a poorly suppressed smile sneaking about the corners of his mouth. "I wasn't trying to aggravate you too much. Just a little bit." He walked to Walter's perch on the desk and laid the coat beside him. The Labour whip pretended not to notice.

"You're so fucking strange, you know? With the sewing and all. Bet the whole Conservative party wants you as its seamstress."

"Very funny."

"Or its housewife. Depending on how this coat looks, I might consider marrying you myself."

"I'm sure your wife would be thrilled to hear you say that."

"Don't get any funny ideas! Besides, I wouldn't want to eat anything you cooked anyway...shame you weren't born into a family of butchers."

Walter finally turned to pick up his coat. He had to admit the repair job was flawless. He couldn't even tell where the coat had been torn. He absentmindedly stretched his arms a bit after putting the jacket on, hoping to notice a single loose piece of thread, any imperfection anywhere; instead he noticed that a button on his left sleeve that had been missing for the past four months had been replaced with one that was a perfect match to the originals.

"One of these days, when our whipping years are long behind us, I need to take you to an Indian restaurant so you can learn that meals do not need to revolve around a giant slab of meat."

Jack looked expectantly at the other whip, expecting a pithy reply from the devout carnivore, but Walter was still examining his suit with a degree of interest Jack was certain he had never had for it at any previous point in the length of his ownership.

"You really didn't have to do this, Jack," he muttered, suddenly embarrassed. He noticed the other man watching him. "I can't find a single flaw, much to my disappointment."

"Your coat is fixed, but it's a bit of a poor fit, don't you think? Look, stand up straight. Look at where the sleeves fall. Look at that excess fabric in the chest."

"It looks fine to me. What, are you gonna make me a new suit now?"

At this, Jack grinned and pulled a tape measure out of his pocket.

"Don't tell me you carry _that_ around with you everywhere too, like your goddamn thimble."

"I don't," replied Jack. "But this is a special occasion."

Walter rolled his eyes, and then stretched his arms out in front of him.

"Okay then. Measure me,, if we still have the time."

"Well I can't measure you too accurately while you're wearing a jacket that fits as poorly as that one does. Take it off."

"I just put it on!"

"Take it off again."

Walter was about to fling his newly-repaired jacket onto the desk, but upon seeing Jack's look of consternation, he laid it delicately over the back of his chair instead.

"You don't have to hold your arms straight out like that," said Jack as he brandished his measuring tape. "Just holding them down at your sides regularly will do."

Walter lowered his arms and felt the gentle pressure on his right shoulder of the tape being held down as it was drawn across the length of his arm. He heard a dissatisfied groan from below him.

"What are you whining about now?"

"Nothing. But you have such an ill-fitting shirt too. It's making my job unnecessarily difficult, you know, to try and get a good measurement over such lumpy clothing..."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Jack."

"It would be helpful."

Walter sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. He glanced at his watch.

"There's eight minutes until the division is scheduled."

"But you will have an extra eight minutes from that point to make it into the lobby. And remember, I have to make it to mine as well. Or we could decide to pair."

"I am not explaining to the rest of the whips that I had to request a pair for myself because an opposition whip was stripping me in my own office."

"Speaking of that..."

"What, you need my trousers off too? You want the pants off as well? Somebody's going to come in that door any minute and see us. See me. See you!"

Jack was nonplussed. "Tell them we were discussing the timetable for Welsh devolution," he said, as he knelt to run the measuring tape up the side of Walter's leg. "And before you suggest it, no, you may keep your pants on. No reputable tailor would request that." ( _No reputable tailor would make the requests you'd made so far_ , thought Walter irritably.)

 

"You know I'm never going to wear whatever it is you think you're going to make for me, right? Some horrifically posh thing that I wouldn't be caught dead in at a-"

Walter never finished his sentence, for just then the division bell began ringing, and he was desperately trying to button up his shirt again as fast as humanly possible.

"I've got half the measurements, but I still need--"

"Sod off, " shouted Walter. "I'm not going to Savile Row. Go on, get out of here, don't stand there and watch me dress."

"I'm watching to make sure you don't undo all my hard work, the way you violently throw those clothes on."

"Five minutes! Get out of here! Hope Ann remembered to check the Gay Hussar like I told her to!"

Jack opened the door to see that the coast was relatively clear, but hesitated before leaving the room.

"You don't have to come to Savile Row, you know. If you've ever interested in a fitting some time, I could come to you."

"I'm not interested in a fitting!"

"Dinner, then?"

"..Drinks. _Maybe_."

Jack slipped out of the Labour Whips' Office, quickening his step before noticing that he was still carrying the measuring tape. He hastily tucked it into a pocket as he stepped into the familiar green chamber. Somewhere over the bustle and murmurings of MPs chatting as they filed into their respective lobbies, he heard the echoing footsteps and aggrieved shouting of Walter Harrison approaching the chamber.

 _At least he'll be on time tonight_ , he thought, as he stepped into the lobby with his fellow Conservatives.


End file.
